Coming Back to You
by YouAreBeforeEverything
Summary: This kind of care was more than just friendly. Hell, he could've patched himself up without anyone's help. John/Bonnie. Light language. One-shot.


**I have done all the revamping I can do with this. I do hope you enjoy it. Just a little J/B to get me through the week. Make up whatever backstory you choose. Personally, I like the AU where he's fighting for his own freedom. **

**I don't own anything.**

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The Marshal had volunteered him to go on a manhunt down in Mexico. By the time he returned, a week later, the bounty hunter was covered in an inch of dirt and he had several cuts and bruises on his face and arms.

He had just hitched his horse by the Foreman's Office when Bonnie exited her house.

"Well look who finally showed up!" She called as she walked across the dusty street. A smile formed on his face.

She threw her arms around him. Luckily his sturdy form was able to hold the two of them upright. He wrapped his arms around her waist and felt her head rest against his shoulder.

"Excuse my filth Miss MacFarlane." His voice was a mix of amusement and exhaustion.

She laughed. "What were you gone so long for?"

He let his hands slide down her side as he gently released his hold on her. She let her arms fall back to her side as they took a couple steps back from each other. She had this look in her eyes. Strange emotions flooded him, so he looked away.

As he pretended to survey the ranch he answered, "Johnson had me lookin' for this gang leader south of the border."

He looked back at her, after she stepped closer. "Those look nasty John." She said. Her voice, usually so harsh and loud, was careful and quiet. He loved when she spoke to him like that.

She wanted to reach up to put a hand on his cheek, or run her hand through his hair, but she was too scared. So instead, she hugged him again and was content when he held her in his arms.

He appreciated physical contact that didn't involve punching or kicking. He realized how much he missed holding a woman. He felt, oddly, relieved to hold her.

They held the hug until a ranch hand walking by gave him a big knowing grin. The ex-criminal shook his head and set Bonnie back on the ground. As they parted, their eyes kept contact. There was that sweet look again. He wanted to duck his head down and kiss her. The very impulse scared him.

She sighed and waved her hand for him to follow as she turned towards the house, "Come on, let's go get you fixed up."

He walked beside her, feeling their hands brush with every couple steps. Bonnie turned her head and raised an eyebrow. However he looked towards the house and noticed damage to the front side; it looked as though a gang when by. The siding looked like it had been shot multiple times.

"What the hell happened, Miss?"

Bonnie stopped after they reached the inside gate. "Aw you know, that damn gang in Pike's Basin." She put her hands on her hips and shook her head.

"When did this happen?" He asked- his voice full of malice. John turned to look towards the street, and could imagine the gang riding by on horseback, shooting at the house and demanding the MacFarlane's to leave.

"Couple days after you left. Guess they got word of it." Bonnie shrugged and walked up the steps. "We can take care of ourselves while you're off needlessly risking your life." The harshness had returned to her voice. He exhaled in exasperation.

They lapsed into silence as she threw open the door. Their footsteps echoed through the empty house.

He walked into the sitting room, took off his hat and threw it on the couch. "Where is Mr. MacFarlane?"

"Pa went down to Blackwater for some more guns for the ranch-hands. Armadillo's supplies of shotguns are understandably few."

He grunted in response. Bonnie rolled her eyes and motioned to the couch, "Have a seat Mr. Marston."

"Thank you Miss MacFarlane." He replied as she walked out of the room. As he sat down in his usual place on the couch, he could hear her walking up the stairs. The loveseat, even as stiff as a board, felt wonderful to John. Just being able to sit after a week of bounty hunting was ecstasy. His head rested against the back of the couch.

His eyes fell shut. His breathing became deep and even. However the sound of Bonnie's footfalls, not five minutes later, caused him to jolt awake. She chuckled as he shook away the sleep.

"You can rest in just a while." Miss MacFarlane promised. He sat up straight and rested his hands on his knees. She placed a couple rags and a bottle of whiskey on the table. She patted his shoulder as she walked behind the couch to open the double doors leading to a washroom. The blonde rancher returned to the sitting room with a pail of water.

He watched as Bonnie sat beside him. Their knees touched innocently. She dipped a rag into the bucket of water, and then wrung out some of the excess water.

"Miss, I can do this." He insisted, taking off his gloves.

She took his left hand in hers, "Hush up, John." Her face softened as she began washing off the dirt from his exposed forearm. He sighed and held his arm up, so she wouldn't have to.

Underneath the western dust on his skin revealed a multitude of bruises. For a moment her eyes narrowed, but then returned her attention to caring for him. Her right hand careful scrubbed the cloth against his skin, while her left hand held his wrist gently; leading his arm to turn over.

She had to dip the rag back in the water and repeat the process on the underside of his forearm. All the while, John looked on a bit uneasy. This kind of care was more than just friendly. Hell, he could've patched himself up without anyone's help.

He felt they were overstepping some boundaries. The ex-criminal was seeing a side of her he had no idea existed. Had she been this caring when she rescued him? He couldn't understand why she would've. After he awoke from being shot at, she had spoken nothing but harsh words until she got to know him.

"Only a couple scrapes, but we best clean them up."

Bonnie put the dirtied cloth down. For a minute he was able to relax his arm. She opened the whiskey bottle and offered him a sip. He declined with a laugh. Her eyes danced with amusement at hearing his rare laugh. She put the rag on top of the open bottle then flipped it over. The whiskey absorbed into the rag slowly. After a couple seconds she flipped the bottle upright and placed it on the table.

"So tell me, John." She started as she took his hand in hers and motioned him to flip his arm over. He held his arm up, releasing her hand from his. "How was it? Adventuring out in Mexico?" She dabbed the rag of whiskey onto the newly cleaned nicks.

"I've about had it with Mexico." He admitted. She turned back to the table and began another round for washing. "Always some kind of revolution going on." He dropped his arm and let his hand sit on his leg.

She nodded. "We hear about it in the paper." She moved even closer. "You'd think they'd be a little more careful about who they let in power."

She reached across him to grab his other arm. As she worked the dirt off his forearm, deeper cuts appeared. He could only imagine when exactly he got those. He turned his arm over as soon as she rinsed off the rag; he didn't want to feel her skin against his. The man couldn't handle the electricity. The dirt was scrubbed away and revealed bruises to go with the cuts.

Soon he felt the prickling pain of the whiskey rag against one of his deeper wounds. He refused to flinch; after all getting the wound had been much worse. However, Bonnie noticed his clenched fist. She smirked and rolled her eyes at his male pride.

The blonde rancher prepared the dirtied rag, "Almost done." He exhaled tiredly and looked around the room; there was nothing new to distract him from the woman.

He nearly jumped when her cold hand gently turned his face to look at her. John felt childish as he closed his eyes to avoid looking at her. He felt the rag rub down his cheek.

"You should shave." She suggested with a hint of amusement. Bonnie gently washed his face of dirt and sweat. He was sure the bucket of water had turned a muddy color by now. He imagined her studying his face in a way she'd never been able to. He swallowed back nervousness. He wondered if she was disgusted by the scars that marred his face. She probably thought his grease-filled locks were too long. He opened his eyes as she retracted the cloth.

She smiled and rinsed the rag in water again. "I don't see too much damage, but let me just clean that one scratch along your neck."

"Miss, I don't know how I sustained that one." He said as he put a hand to it. "I guess one of those bastards snuck up on me." She swatted his hand away and quickly cleaned the area.

He could've sworn, as she poured more whiskey onto the rag, she was humming lightly. This Bonnie was torture. His reserves were wearing down. After dabbing the wound, she put the cloth down on the table.

"All done, Mr. Marston. You're gonna live."

He smiled. "I was worried there for a second."

Her laugh made his smile grow wider. "You're such a joker." She put the cork back on the whiskey bottle.

"Thank you Miss MacFarlane. I really appreciate your help." He told her as they looked at each other.

She shrugged, "Of course, John. Can't have you getting sick when the town needs you the most."

Bonnie reached over to put a hand on his scarred cheek. Her thumb slid across the two parallel scars. In their time, they were probably deep. She wondered what they were from and if the one that cut into his lip was part of the same injury.

The bounty hunter frowned and fought not to lean into her touch. It had been so long since someone had dared get this close to him. His brain told him to just give in. Bonnie made him feel loved, was it such a bad thing? He knew he was no good for her, yet he could hardly fight against his feelings anymore; it was exhausting

With a sigh she removed her hand. He watched the disappointment flash in her eyes, definitely not the first time. But it seemed to be the final straw for him. Just as she stood to leave the couch, he caught her wrist.

"Wait, Miss." She raised an eyebrow in confusion. He noticed an almost hopeful turn of the lips and that was all the encouragement he needed. The ex-criminal pulled himself off the couch. They were chest to chest. She looked up at him even more confused. He cleared his throat awkwardly before finally saying, "To hell with it."

"Wha-" Bonnie started, but got her answer as his hand found the back of her neck and gently guided her forward. Her hands rested on his chest. He ducked his head and rested his forehead against hers. He looked for any sign of a struggle. She rubbed her nose along his as their breath mixed.

He closed his eyes and ducked his head so their lips met. It was a simple, chaste kiss; his rough, chapped lips against hers. He pulled back a couple seconds later, hoping she had felt the same euphoria as he did.

His hand dropped from her neck and took a step back. One of her arms fell to her side, while the other one stayed resting on his chest. She inhaled deeply and pursed her lips.

"Well John. I'm glad you finally manned up." She joked in an attempt to make him laugh. When the most she received was a smile, Bonnie's expression softened.

"I'm sorry, Miss MacFarlane. I'm only just realizing that I like you quite a bit." He admitted.

"Call me Bonnie, you dolt." She lightly hit him on the chest. He raised his hand to capture hers.

He grinned and felt almost giddy at the thought of courting. He hoped Bonnie would let him be sweet on her.

She shook her head in amusement. After a couple seconds she said, "Go take a bath John."

He laughed and grabbed his hat. "Yes ma'am." He released her hand and promised to tell Drew at dinner that they would be courting.


End file.
